


Getaway

by glasshibou



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: cliffhanger ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 21:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasshibou/pseuds/glasshibou
Summary: Sarah always did have a habit of calling upon things she didn’t understand.For ericathemad, who guessed correctly and requested something dark, dramatic, and having something to do with The Sorcerer's Apprentice. I'm afraid I strayed a little bit from that, though...





	Getaway

For as much as she knew it made her seem like a coward, Sarah was very good at running. It was a skill she honed when she ran away from her family to attend college at a school halfway across the country, and again when she felt the magic coursing through her veins and crawling under her skin like a parasite. When she felt  _ him _ creeping around her thoughts, scratching at the edges of her consciousness, she ran again. This time she found herself at the edges of society, a college dropout with pockets full of cash from gambling--magic had its advantages, and Sarah quickly got over her moral roadblocks. 

It was that or starve.

_ Or,  _ whispered an ever-present voice at the back of her mind,  _ you could come back, surrender yourself unto me _ .

It wasn’t her voice. 

The more she tried to block him out, the louder he became until sleep aids became her new normal, and it was uncommon to find her without at least a little sample bottle of vodka. To her displeasure, the magic worked overtime to burn the alcohol from her veins, which meant she was always playing a game to see what she could drink to scramble her senses the quickest. When she couldn’t feel him trying to draw her back to him--silken promises whispered against her neck, a soft brush against her breast, hollow anger when she refused--she was at peace. It was always followed with a killer hangover, both from the alcohol and the magic.

But it was the price she paid for a few blissful minutes of quiet. It would certainly be the death of her, but if that was the sort of life Sarah was going to lead, was it really worth living? If she’d known as a child that setting herself up as  _ his _ equal-- _ my kingdom as great!-- _ would mean tethering herself to him, she never would have. There had to have been some other way to beat him, surely. 

Except it was far too late, now. It was too late to turn back, and Sarah was ready to be led where her choices took her. If that meant an anonymous grave in some backwater town in Arizona, then so be it; she’d never lead him back to her family. It was the reason she ran in the first place.

A grave was not to be her fate. When Miranda found her, Sarah was not well; the woman, undeterred by Sarah’s insistence that she be left alone, nursed her back to some semblance of health. Of course, Miranda berated Sarah the whole time on wasting her magic, and by the time Sarah was better, she found herself somehow Miranda’s apprentice. Miranda was a sorceress of the highest order--at least, that was what she assured Sarah, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder--and had vowed to make Sarah master her own magic. Sarah, not quite knowing how to refuse her, accepted the offer.

The first thing Miranda taught her new pupil was how to set a ward. Sarah became very good at them very quickly, and for the first time in six years she could sleep without aid. Her mind was her own.

_ He _ was gone. Oh, perhaps not  _ really _ , but the reprieve from his presence was good enough for her, even if it was temporary. And she had no delusions that it would last forever. Whenever she was late in resetting her wards, she could feel him at the edges, waiting to be let back in; Sarah resolved to learn as quickly as she could to make sure that when her wards  _ did _ fail, she would be ready for him. 

Miranda taught her all sorts of useful things besides warding, like how best to swindle a congressman into thinking you gave him a satchel to boost his chances when it was really filled with sulfur and hogweed, and how to find lost things. Sarah filled journal after journal with her notes, until the bookshelf beside her bed was full to the point of spilling over. 

And still, it never seemed enough. 

Whenever Miranda was off working with her clients--the pushy congressman took up a lot of her time, now that elections were drawing nearer--Sarah took to sneaking into her private magic working room and reading through the other woman’s journals and spellbooks. Some of it Sarah wrote down in her own books, if it seemed innocent enough. The rest of it she committed to her memory, hoping that Miranda would never find out about the breach of privacy. 

Sarah’s power grew, but there were still things that Miranda forbid her to attempt on the occasions she was at home. Summoning was one of those things, and Sarah was irritated to have an entire field of magic cut off from her studies. And then temptation knocked at her door when she saw in Miranda’s books that in summoning a creature, she could bend it to her will. 

The promised power was seductive. 

She might not have to get her hands dirty at all, at least not directly. 

And with that, Sarah developed a plan. 

She waited until Miranda was supposed to be gone again; Sarah didn’t think she needed more than a day, but she wanted to be safe all the same. When Sarah was sure her mentor was gone and away, she crept into Miranda’s room and pulled a book from the shelf. It was a thin volume, barely even able to be considered a journal, and it looked old. Its cover was soft and worn, clearly made from some sort of leather. Sarah missed it the first few times she’d sorted through the bookshelf.

On the flagstone floor of the kitchen she drew her summoning circle and the runes that would keep her safe within. The charcoal blackened her fingertips, a small price to pay for future peace of mind. 

When she was done, she stood and kicked her sandals off her feet behind her, letting the cold stone ground her. 

“I call upon one who would help me,” Sarah said, her mouth dry with anticipation and worry. “I call upon one who would help me seek safety and revenge. I call upon you, and so you shall appear!”

Fairies bit, she knew, but Miranda’s books told her that they might have other abilities as well. They could be ferocious little things, often underestimated because of their size. Sarah aimed not to make the same mistake twice. 

In the circle across from hers, the air shimmered and stretched, and a figure appeared inside. Then another. 

Sarah cleared her throat. 

“I thank you,” she said, trying to keep her speech formal, as the book suggested. The shapes solidified slightly, but never became truly opaque. 

“Oh, oh,” whispered the first fairy to arrive. “We know you. Yes, we know you. You spoke out about the treatment of our sister.”

It took Sarah a few moments to realize what the fairy was talking about.

“I suppose I did,” she said slowly. “I have need of your help, if you are willing to offer it.” She would prefer to gain their aid without force, but would subjugate them if she absolutely had to. It wasn’t her first preference, especially not when they seemed to already view her favorably.

“A good turn for a good turn,” the fairy said finally. “We pay in kind, human woman. We always do.”

Sarah smiled at the fairy, and did not notice when a third, a fourth, a fifth appeared in the circle across from hers. And because she did not notice their appearance, she did not notice the smallest of them testing the strength of her spell. 

“From whom to you seek safety? From whom must revenge be extracted?” asked the first fairy. Its voice was smooth and gentle, soft bell tones that set Sarah at ease. 

“When I first met your sister,” Sarah said, “I was tasked with completing the labyrinth to save my little brother. I did, but there were… consequences. I need saving from… from the king who lives within it. In the castle.” Sarah licked her lips; she didn’t dare speak his name, not even with her wards up. “When I won, something went wrong. He…”

Sarah paused, not sure how to put her torment into words. 

“I need him gone,” she finally finished. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, wrapping her arms tight around her torso. 

“We understand,” one of the fairies said, too close to her ear. Sarah, however, only opened her eyes when she felt a tiny hand trace down her cheek. Panic surged through her veins--she did  _ exactly _ as the book said, so  _ how _ \--

“Fret not, savior of our sister.”

Sarah closed her eyes again, the soft voice of the fairy lulling her into complacency.

“We will take care of you.”

Sarah took a deep breath and smelled toasted almonds and bright sunshine; somewhere, in the deep part of her mind that wasn’t yet mesmerised by fairy tricks, she remembered that was what their magic was supposed to smell like. 

“Come with us. We can play wondrous games,” another fairy urged. Sarah could feel them playing with her hair. 

“I…”

“You will never know pain, or hardship, or fear in our kingdom. We will show you how to sup on moonbeams.”

She let them draw her to the edge of her circle, breathing in their sunshine-and-almond magic. It would be lovely to go with them, wouldn’t it? To live in blissful oblivion, to let them take away all of her worries and will.

Sarah held out her hand, and a fairy came to sit on it.

“Just come with us,” it said.

“I will,” Sarah whispered, opening her eyes to look at her new friends. Her vision seemed brighter, somehow, blurred at the edges, and oh, didn’t it give everything a lovely glow?

“ _ She will not!” _

The door burst open behind her, letting in the dry Arizona sun. Sarah turned, slowly, slowly, slowly, to see Miranda standing in the doorway, power crackling at her fingers.

“There is previous claim.  _ Begone! _ ” Miranda bellowed, casting her banishment out and over them. The fairies screeched, trying to claw the magic from their skin.

“Tricks!” they cried out. “Tricks and lies! Do not listen, human Sarah!”

“Begone!” Miranda shouted again, splitting the word into two sharp barks. The scent of fairy magic disappeared all at once, the fairies leaving with it. Sarah’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor beside her sandals. Too late, she saw that one of them had been kicked across the charcoal line, smudging it. 

Tears pricked in her eyes, and her breath came in shuddering gasps. Miranda crouched down beside her, pulling Sarah’s hair away from her face.

“I said you weren’t ready for that yet,” the sorceress said, but her voice held none of its usual sharp reprimand. “What on earth were you thinking?”

A tide of anger swept over Sarah; only some of it had to do with Miranda. She was angry that she made such a stupid mistake, angry that someone had to come to her rescue. But most of all, she was furious that the Goblin King just wouldn’t leave her alone. It was all his fault in the first place.

“He was coming back,” Sarah said, working to keep the fury from her voice. “My wards were failing, and I had to do something.” It was telling, perhaps, that Miranda did not ask  _ who _ was back. Sarah looked up at her, expecting the question--they’d never really discussed each other’s pasts--but it never came.

“I know,” Miranda said. “I could feel him too, hovering around you. Waiting.” Her voice was hushed, and she refused to meet Sarah’s eyes. Sarah felt her anger turn to fear as she listened to Miranda asked for forgiveness. 

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before he came to collect. You have to understand, Sarah; I did what I could, but I cannot fight against him.”

“You knew,” Sarah said before she realized she was going to say it. “This whole time, you knew what I was running from, and you…”

Sarah bit her lip. It wouldn’t help her situation to fling hurtful words, especially not if she actually meant them.

“Please, Sarah. Please understand. You wouldn’t be able to fight against your father either, would you?”

Sarah’s world collapsed out from under her. Her heart thudded in her chest and it was suddenly difficult to breathe.

“Your father?” Sarah asked, voice barely above a whisper.


End file.
